


Twenty Years

by Thatkindoffangirl



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Electrocution, M/M, Omorashi, TPP before TPP, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 09:31:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4559523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkindoffangirl/pseuds/Thatkindoffangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I wasn’t expecting you to remember,” Ocelot said. He caressed Snake’s hair away from his face, then gently cupped his cheek with his hand. “I know how much you’ve forgotten.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Years

The sea air had already started weaving salt in Snake’s eyelashes, and yet the taste of Afghan sand still lingered in his mouth.

The walls of the dungeon shuddered in time with the rumbling of the waves below. A single light bulb hung down from the ceiling, casting red-tinted shadows that danced along with its swinging. All around Snake, the aseptic smell of chlorine brewed together with the heat, and filled the room with a stench that made his stomach churn.

Natural light couldn’t reach down to the torture chambers, in much the same way as screams couldn’t reach up to the main level. The platform had been constructed under Ocelot’s direct supervision and, like everything Ocelot did, nothing was left to chance.

“Take off your shirt,” Ocelot said, twirling the room’s keys back into his pants. “Your equipment, too.”

Those were his first words since he had come to meet Snake at the landing platform, and the only reason Snake couldn’t think of a joke was that the absurdity of Ocelot’s requests was always proportional to his seriousness.

“Ocelot,” he said. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he summoned the strength not to yell. “I just got back from a mission.”

Ocelot had buried his nose in one of the cabinets lining the walls, his fingers casually tapping on the doors as he pretended not to hear.

The vision of a tranquilizer dart landing straight in Ocelot’s neck ran through Snake’s mind, quickly followed by the soothing image of his bed. His index twitched towards his gun. He shook his head, sending the idea away.

“Ocelot,” Snake called him again. “I’m hungry, I’m tired, and I haven’t pissed in three days. Can we do this another time?”

Ocelot’s fingers stopped.

He froze for a moment. Then, his hands still on the cabinet’s doors, he leaned backwards and returned Snake’s glare with the most innocent smile.

“Of course,” he said. “And I’m sure the Soviets will be just as sympathetic.”

All in all, it had not been the welcome home Snake was expecting.

“Your physical recovery has been astounding,” Ocelot continued. He smirked as his eyes trailed along Snake’s height. “But a body—even yours—is just a liability when you’re caught by the enemy.”

“ _If_ you are caught,” Snake said.

Ocelot shrugged. Without a word, he disappeared into the cabinet again, rummaging through the scaffolds. When he reemerged, a long metallic rod clutched in his hands, his smile was even wider than before.

“You know better than anyone, John, how crucial it is for you to learn all this again,” he said. “You know you can’t wake up in the morning, well-rested, well-fed, and learn how to resist torture.”

His spurs tingled on the floor. The rod swung to his side as he walked.

“You’re the one who asked me to—” he paused briefly, now barely outside the boundaries of Snake’s comfort distance “— _whip_ you back into shape, didn’t you?” The pause was just long enough to not give Snake time to answer. “Would you really rather be dealing with Kaz’s provision papers right now?”

Silence again. Then, Snake scoffed.

“I’d rather be sleeping,” he said.

Five minutes later, Ocelot was running a rope around his wrists.

“You know,” Ocelot said, caressing the hemp with his thumbs. “You’re even more docile than our dog.”

Snake turned his eyes to the ceiling, ignoring the comment. Above his head, a hook dangled down, reflecting his gaze back at him. His features, distorted by the metal, blurred along with the scars on his face, making him look even more disfigured. The red light made his eye look as if it was burning with blood.

“Relax,” Ocelot said. “It’ll be over soon.”

His fingers slid under the hemp, caressing Snake’s wrists to ensure there was enough space for blood to keep flowing. Then, he lifted himself on his tiptoes and dragged the hook down to Snake’s height. When he released it again, Snake’s arms were yanked up along with it.

Ocelot backed away slightly, stepping on a pedal hidden on the floor. Slowly, Snake’s body was dragged closer and closer to the ceiling as the hook began to rise. His arms stretched over his head, then gravity pulled them behind it. It wasn’t long before he was forced to arch his torso forward and stand on his toes to accompany the movement.

His wrist—the only one he had left—ached. His biceps were so taut they could snap any second. The change in tension along his every limb was agonizingly slow, only evident as Snake’s stomach tensed more and more along with his rising posture and his own muscles squeezed against his bladder.

He breathed deeply, focusing on the fresh air coursing through his lungs to shift his thoughts to something else. _Anything_ else.

Ocelot’s eyes never left him. Even as he stepped forward again, foot leaving the pedal, his gaze was always fixed on Snake’s face.

“It will never be over if you don’t start,” Snake said.

The stretching in his throat made his voice even rougher.

Ocelot smiled. His lips, slightly opened, quivered with each breath. He spun the electric rod in his hands, forming ample circles to his side. He always fidgeted when enraptured in thoughts.

“Don’t be eager,” he said. “Or I’ll think both of us are enjoying this."

Whatever sound Snake meant to answer with, it was not the one that came out of his mouth. Every part of his body was stretched by his own weight, his throat shut in position. But despite his plight, or maybe because of it, Ocelot’s movements were almost sluggish.

Slowly, he ran a hand along the length of the rod, caressing it like one would a pet; he lifted it up to his face, observing the light reflecting on the tip; then ,he pressed the button in the middle of the handle and hummed in satisfaction as a zap of electricity echoed across the room.

Snake rose higher on his feet, focusing his weight on his calves. The rope was cutting into his skin, which pulsed red. He shifted on his metal arm to get blood flowing back in the good one. Each movement stretched the muscles in his belly. His twisted position made them clench around his bladder, which felt like a balloon ready to pop.

He groaned in discomfort, not pain—not _yet_. Still, the nagging sensation in his arm coursed through his whole body, buzzing static deep into his head. He breathed again, closing his eye as he exhaled through his mouth.

Only when the rod finally pressed against his skin and he found himself willingly leaning towards it, did Snake realize how far he was willing to go for a distraction.

“We really should put a bag on your head,” Ocelot said.

A shiver spread across Snake’s back, carried by the cold air breezing through the grates in the wall. He was drenched in sweat. A drop of it slid down his cheek and Ocelot caught it on the tip of the rod before it could fall from his chin.

Starting from his shoulder, he traced a line down across Snake’s chest, pressing slightly on his sternum then skidding down to his tensed belly. He dug the rod below his navel, making him flinch; then he ran it over his pants, past his crotch, to the middle of his thigh.

“This is going through your leg,” he said.

Snake's muscles clenched at the words. The rod sank further into his flesh. He inhaled sharply, mind already focused on the incoming pain.

Then, his thumb on the button, Ocelot spoke again.

“Don’t fight it, John,” he said. “Pain can only be accepted.”

The words reached Snake just as Ocelot shifted the rod to his left shoulder and electricity came burning through his chest and neck.

Snake’s vision turned white. His voice clawed past his throat and spilled out of his mouth. His muscles contracted. Drops of piss wetted the tip of his cock. He clenched his pelvis, digging his nails into his hand to resist the pain sizzling throughout his body. His roars grated against his teeth.

Even with his eye closed, the room was spinning around him. Everything was burning. His metallic hand spun and spurred in his ear, the sound of failing hardware drilling in his temples.

Then, before the pain could settle, it was all over.

Snake’s body sagged in exhaustion, pulling his arms down with his weight. His muscles relaxed. Blood pulsed through his hand, against the rope around his wrists, beating in sync with his heartbeat. The sweat on his forehead fell in his eye and blurred his vision even further.

Everything was shadows. The only limbs he could feel were the ones he was missing.

In front of him, Ocelot’s outline was standing close, much closer than he’d ever need to be. His face was merely inches from Snake’s, eyes still focused on him and yet lost in thought.

He ran his fingers through Snake’s hair, caressing the fallen locks away.

Snake coughed. He lifted his head slightly, trying to catch Ocelot’s eyes with his.

“Is this—” his muscles stretched with effort, and another faint zap coursed through him, “—part of the training?”

Ocelot chuckled. He raised a finger and gently poked the tip of the Shrapnel horn sunk in Snake’s forehead, then followed its line down to the cove between his eyebrows.

“Do you know what day is it today, John?” he asked.

Snake’s muscles twitched, releasing electricity through him again. He whimpered. His bladder was so heavy with piss that every movement was like dragging a boulder through water.

“ _What?_ ” he asked.

His voice was angrier than he meant it to be.

Ocelot laughed. He ran the rod under Snake’s chin, lifting it so that his head was forced upward.

“Today,” he said again. “What day is it?”

Snake’s mouth was stuck in place. Ocelot’s eyes were still fixed on him as he waited for an answer that couldn’t come.

“Isn’t it—” Snake twisted his head, freeing himself. He choked on his tongue, spilling saliva down the corner of his mouth, “— _veal chops_ day at the mess hall?”

Had Snake had the time, he would have laughed at Ocelot’s expression. Instead, his voice was cut off when a new zap of current slithered in through one of his thighs.

His lungs were empty. He wanted to scream; instead, he breathed. Air entered his body, even as each one of his cells urged for him to push it out. As the rod dug into his skin, his nails sank into his palm. This time he drew blood.

He gnashed his teeth, clenched his legs, his pelvis. He didn’t want anything to spill out, not his voice, not his pain— even less, his desire for it to stop. And yet, even though all that echoed in his mind was the sound of electricity, his throat burned so hot that he might as well have been screaming the whole time.

Suddenly, his knees bent, unable to sustain his weight. His feet brushed against the floor as he gently swung on the rope. His body fell limp again.

The sound of Ocelot’s spurs boomed in the room. He circled around Snake, humming in pleasure as he admired his work like an artist judging his creation from every angle.

Snake’s shoulders were as heavy as boulders. He pinned his boots to the floor and hauled himself up once again, shifting his weight onto the mechanic arm. His shaky knees, however, were not steady enough to support him and soon he was dangling limp again.

Behind him, Ocelot sneered. His hands climbed on Snake’s shoulders, and he groaned in pain as Ocelot lifted himself up to press his mouth against his ear.

“You know how much I despise _cruelty_ ,” he whispered.

Many people had wondered whether the irony of his protectiveness toward animals was lost on him, and Snake doubted the question was ever going to be answered.

Ocelot’s breath was burning cold on his neck, sending shivers down his spine; the leather on his gloves stuck to the damp skin on his back. Ocelot’s thumbs were digging into his shoulder blades, palms spread open atop them to enjoy the twitching of his muscles.

He ran his nose along Snake’s neck, inhaling his scent with a satisfied purr.

“I thought this was supposed to be training,” Snake said.

The combined weight of their bodies made the pressure on his wrist unbearable.

“Does it have to be only one thing, John?” Ocelot asked.

His hands traveled down Snake’s chest, caressing the line between his pectorals before resting on his stomach. His fingers circled around his navel.

“Ocelot,” Snake said. “I don’t have... time for this.”

“I know.” Ocelot chuckled, running his thumb along the rim of Snake’s pants. “You never have time for me.”

He moved his fingers past the entrance, following the path of pubes down to Snake’s cock, his palm pressing on his stomach.

“ _Ocelot—!_ ”

Snake spat the name out like a curse. Ocelot’s fingers closed around the base of his penis. He laughed, squeezing the erection.

“Care to explain this?” he asked.

Snake groaned. Of course Ocelot didn’t need an explanation, which was the exact reason he was so eager to hear one.

“Don’t _you_ ever get a boner when you have to pee?” he asked.

“Oh,” Ocelot said, raising on the tip of his feet to reach Snake’s ear again. He squeezed Snake’s dick harder, pressing his hand on his bladder as he did.  “Why not just go here then?”

Snake inhaled sharply. More drops of pee wetted the tip of his cock.

“ _Stop— messing around—_ ” he growled through his teeth.

“Are you shy?” Ocelot said. “You didn’t seem to mind when you were younger.”

“Let me go!” Snake yelled. His pelvis throbbed as if on fire. “That’s an order!”

Ocelot’s grip suddenly loosened. He lifted his hand away from Snake’s pants, dragging the leather gloves on his pubes before releasing him. The room echoed with the sound of his spurs, and soon he was in front of Snake again.

“It’s not like you to pull rank,” he said. He paused, swinging the rod side to side like an annoyed child. “Did you really think I would obey?”

Snake adjusted his stance upward. Without Ocelot’s weight on him, his body felt lighter and his knees were finally able to sustain him.

“You did, didn’t you?” he asked.

Ocelot laughed.

“Well,” he conceded, “I can be very accommodating, John, can’t I?” He grabbed Snake’s chin between his fingers and dragged him closer to his face. “What good is a teacher who doesn’t listen to his students?”

Snake wrestled his face away from the grasp, but as soon as his chin slipped free, Ocelot pressed the tip of the rod into his body again, this time straight on his bladder.

“Have it your way, _boss_ ,” he said.

Their eyes locked together briefly when Ocelot released the current; then Snake saw his face zap out of shape as electricity began to course through him.

His head shot up. Pain engulfed him again, stomach spasming along with the current. He bit his lips, drawing blood as his muscles tightened. He tried to stretch his body, to shield his bladder from the pressure. It was as if every fiber was squeezing against it. The pain was scorching.

Tiredness washed over him even as he screamed—not physical tiredness, mental. Suddenly, nothing mattered anymore.

All he wanted was sleep.

Then, his whole body fell limp.

For an instant—a single instant before he realized what was happening—it was pure bliss. And after, when his mind tried to stop it, it was too late.

The wet heat of urine spread down his thighs. His muscles unclenched. He moaned as he relieved himself, the pain leaving his body along with the piss. It was as if he was floating in nothingness.

His face was hot. His mouth was dry. Only when he tried to swallow did he realize his mouth was hanging open.

“I wasn’t expecting you to remember,” Ocelot said. He caressed Snake’s hair away from his face, then gently cupped his cheek with his hand. “I know how much you’ve forgotten.”

Saliva was dribbling from the corner of Snake’s mouth. He licked his lips, gathering back up as much as he could before gulping it back down.

“Remember... _what_?” he asked.

The stench of urine burned his nostrils. His voice was croaky.

“Today.” Ocelot smiled softly. “What day is it?”

Snake’s brain was light. His shoulders didn’t hurt anymore. Nothing did.

“September 1st,” he murmured.

Ocelot nodded.

“What else?”

Snake’s eyesight blurred in and out of focus. The breeze made the overhead light shake, and the shadows in the room stretched and shrunk along.

“Groznyj Grad,” he said, head jolting up. It was like a rusty cog inside his brain had started working. Even as he felt seasickness overcoming him, the rush of excitement moved his voice along.

“Volgin,” he added fast. “You were there when he—”

“Tortured you?” Ocelot asked.

Snake nodded.

Ocelot laughed. It was a true, happy laugh, one that Snake rarely heard from him. His arms moved around Snake’s neck. He lifted himself on his toes, reaching Snake’s height and brushing their lips together in a brief kiss.

“Happy anniversary, John,” he said.

If that was what Snake had forgotten, he wasn’t sure he’d wanted to remember.

**Author's Note:**

> Never forget Ocelot's torture boner: 1964—1984


End file.
